


Tag Team

by Spinning_In_Infinity



Category: House of Wax (2005)
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, F/M, Reader Bangs Both Those Fine Sinclair Boys, Sorry Lester, Threesome, Vaginal Sex, not THIS time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27766828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_In_Infinity/pseuds/Spinning_In_Infinity
Summary: In which the Reader discovers what Bo and Vincent can achieve when they work together. . .
Relationships: Bo Sinclair/Reader, Bo Sinclair/You, Vincent Sinclair/Reader, Vincent Sinclair/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	Tag Team

**Author's Note:**

> For more slasher goodness, please visit my Tumblr page: august-bleeds-red.
> 
> I have an uncontrollable thirst for Bo Sinclair.

You know you’ve been in the Sinclair household too long when you can identify the person behind you by how they grab your ass.

“Bo,” you sigh, glancing over your shoulder at the smug bastard smirking at you. You’ve been cleaning almost all afternoon, sweeping and scrubbing under the kitchen units, and the stove is your final task before you allow yourself some rest. “Really? Right now?”

“Hell yeah right now,” he chuckles, smoothing a large hand over your jeans-clad ass cheek. “You’re puttin’ on too much of a show here for me to wait, darlin’.”

Setting down the dishrag you’ve been scrubbing the stovetop with, you wipe your hands on the ratty old T-shirt you’re wearing and turn to face him. You can’t lie – even after all these months, he’s still more than a little intimidating to you. Six-foot-one of sinewy red-blooded Louisiana male, leering down at you like a fox cornering a baby rabbit.

“Now, what made you think I was interested in seein’ your face?” he says, gripping your hips and swivelling you back round to face the stove. He’s undoing the button on your jeans when a shadow falls across you from the doorway. You both turn to see Vincent staring at the two of you. He’s dressed casually, meaning in clothes that aren’t caked in wax, his long hair pulled back in a messy ponytail at his neck.

“Little busy here,” Bo warns.

Vincent looks to your face, already flushed with expectant arousal.

**It’s my turn** , he signs.

“Fuck off it’s your turn,” Bo snorts. “Go on, get.”

But Vincent’s not budging this time. Three long strides and he has his hands on you, jerking you from Bo’s grip and pinning you to his chest.

“The fuck?” Bo looks genuinely annoyed now. “Y’think you can just barge in here and blue-balls me?”

You groan in exasperation. Usually this kind of She’s Mine play would have you feeling hot under the collar, but it’s been a long day. “Look, one or both of you just do it or let me get back to work, okay?”

A thread of silent communication seems to pass between the twins, and Bo’s lip curls mischievously. “You want front or back?” he asks.

Vincent holds his hand out flat in front of his face and moves it downwards to his chin.

Bo shrugs. “Fine by me.”

Before you can so much as question what’s happening, Vincent hauls you up and over his shoulder, carrying you like a sack of potatoes to the ancient shag-pile rug in front of the TV. Setting you down, he quickly pulls off your T-shirt while Bo tugs at your jeans. You step out of them almost automatically, the cogs in your weary brain piecing together what’s about to happen. Forcing you to your knees, the brothers both unbuckle their belts.

“Eldest first,” Bo grins, grabbing a fistful of your hair and guiding you to his waiting erection. Your mouth opens automatically and you take him inside, bracing yourself against his thighs as he drags you back and forth along his length.

“Ahh yeah, that’s it, baby.”

Knowing what’s expected of you, you scramble blindly for Vincent, wrapping your fingers around his cock and stroking it. He lets out a rasping moan and thrusts into your loose grip. Bo allows you to break free and you turn your attentions to his twin, sucking on him until he’s rock hard against your tongue. You’re vaguely aware of Bo rummaging for something in a nearby drawer, and when your eyes focus on the blue bottle he unearths you realise “front or back” was _not_ referring to Vincent in your mouth and Bo in your pussy.

“Wait—” You try to pull away, try to stand, but Vincent already has a hold of you.

With a strength that always manages to surprise you, he drags you down to straddle his hips, one hand already on his cock, nudging the tip at your slit. Despite your disquiet at the way Bo is approaching leisurely from behind, you can’t stop the moan that falls from your lips as you’re impaled on Vincent’s impressive girth. He may be the quieter of the twins, but he’s by no means merciful – not with his victims, and not with your body. You thank stars for the natural lubrication of your arousal that allows him to penetrate with little resistance, the sting of the stretch lasting only a moment before the warmth of pleasure blankets you. Vincent’s hands settle on your waist, easing you slowly – but firmly – down, until your thighs meet his hips. You unconsciously push upwards as he lifts you, chasing that spark of bliss that curls through your lower belly. Vincent’s thumbs paint patterns in your skin, hips thrusting to meet your downward strokes. You cry out, palms flat against his chest, the muscles in your legs burning with the effort to keep elevated. 

“Room for one more?” Bo’s liquor-smooth voice murmurs in your ear, and you feel the straps of your bra ping loose. Throwing the offending undergarment aside, Bo cups your breasts and squeezes hard. You gasp and he claps one hand across your mouth, slipping two thick fingers inside. You taste traces of engine oil and tobacco, the smoky-sweet scent you’ve come to associate with him. Combined with the aroma of wax and clay that clings to Vincent, you’re deliciously trapped in a cloying fog of aphrodesia.

Releasing your mouth, Bo’s hand traces the curve of your spine, pressing between your shoulder-blades to force you into a more _accessible_ position. Your heart pounds and you glance anxiously over your shoulder at him. His eyes glint wickedly back at you, one hand stroking his cock with obvious intent.

“Bo,” you whisper. “Please. . .”

“Please what, baby-doll?” he purrs.

“Don’t hurt me.”

“Now why would I do a terrible thing like that?”

He rubs the tip of one finger, wet from your mouth, against your rear hole; Vincent slows his thrusts to a slow, crawling pace, just enough to keep the fire lit. You squirm as Bo’s digit pushes past the tight ring of muscle, the intrusion not big enough to hurt, but enough to feel unusual. When he adds a second finger, however, you flinch.

“Aw, too much?” You can _hear_ the gleeful grin in his voice. Pushing both fingers in to the second knuckle, he splits them into a V, stretching you in preparation. You guess you should be thankful he’s giving any at all. You feel strangely empty when he pulls them out, but only for the briefest moment before you feel something bigger take their place. Vincent falls still as a figurine, his one sky-blue eye watching your face intently. Reaching between your bodies, he rubs the fore and middle fingers of one hand against your clit, sending a hum of pleasure murmuring through you to counteract what’s happening behind.

“Oh fuck, baby,” Bo grits his teeth as his cockhead disappears inside you. “You’re so _fucking_ tight.”

By the time he’s fully sheathed, you’re trying to remember your name. You’ve never felt so full as you do now, you would go so far as to say . . . complete. Vincent drinks in your kaleidoscope of expressions like a man dying of thirst; the holy sequence of pain and pleasure that crosses your face more beautiful than any art he could create alone. He gives an experimental thrust and you see Heaven. When the brothers begin moving together, you can just barely cling to your sanity. The warm, soothing ecstasy from Vincent integrated with the sharp, gratifying pain being served to you by Bo takes you to a new plane of experience.

“Y’like that, huh?” Bo threads his fingers through your hair and pulls your head back, exposing your neck. “Y’like being stuffed like a little slut?”

“Nng . . . uhh . . .” Your tongue feels too big for your mouth.

“Say it,” Bo licks a long stripe up the side of your neck. “Tell us what you are.”

“I-I . . .” the tempo of the two of them inside you sends lights popping before your eyes. “I’m— I’m a slut.”

“And who owns your pretty little pussy?” He deals a sharp slap across your ass cheek. “Who does this ass belong to?”

“You!” You’re almost sobbing, your pleasure rising within you like the sun. “Oh God, Bo . . . Vince . . .”

Bo quickens pace, hips smacking into your ass with ruthless force, and Vincent hand is almost vibrating with the speed at which he’s massaging your clit. Your combined gasps and moans rise in harmony, Bo turning the air blue with lustful curses.

“Oh god, oh fuck,” you whimper, white heat radiating upwards through your body from where you’re connected. “I’m— I’m gonna cum . . .”

“That’s it, baby,” Bo grunts, his thrusts evolving into mindless snaps of his hips, jerking so sharply you wonder if you’ll have bruises there tomorrow. “You’re gonna be drippin’ with cum after this. Gonna fill you so _fuckin’_ full.”

Your scream must echo to the church when you finally finish, your inner walls pulsating against Vincent’s cock and drawing his own orgasm from him. The warmth of his seed fills you, spilling down your thighs.

“Gonna cum in your ass,” Bo’s breathing is ragged, you can tell he’s close. “Gonna fuckin’—”

The sensation of cum shooting deep into your ass is an interesting one, but the wild howl of ecstasy that emits from Bo more than makes up for it. Both brothers are twisted, broken, often cruel, but God if they don’t give you pleasure the like of which you’ve never known; or likely ever will again.

You collapse onto Vincent’s chest as Bo pulls out of you, unable to keep your balance any longer. Vincent’s softening cock is still inside you, twitching occasionally when you move. Bo staggers to his feet and cups your jaw in his palm, claiming a feral kiss from your dry lips.

“You’re ours, Y/N,” he says.

“Yours . . .” you nod dazedly. You think you might pass out.

Both of you glance down at Vincent. It’s not often that he speaks, but the monosyllabic moments he does are always worth the effort. Lifting his wax mask from his face, he gives his own interpretation of Bo’s signature smug grin.

“Ours.”


End file.
